


Knowledge and Conversation

by bourbonandbitter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Exhibitionism, Attempt at humour, Light BDSM, M/M, Safewords, The Bornless One, The Headless One, barbarous names, narrow audience, the Greek Magical Papyri, this is why we can't summon nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 08:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bourbonandbitter/pseuds/bourbonandbitter
Summary: They choose their safeword poorly and accidentally summon an old acquaintance.





	Knowledge and Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who got here after saying "Haha I wonder if there's PGM fanfic:" Hi.

"Obviously, it's ineffable." Aziraphale leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, as though he'd won the argument.

Crowley let out a small groan - enough to communicate his annoyance, but not so loud or long as to give the appearance of caring. And he didn't care, really; anything would do, and he'd do anything Aziraphale wanted, so it wasn't like the word would ever see use. But he liked to argue with his angel. It was like playing beer pong with a chess master.

"It has to be something you wouldn't normally say while we're, you know," he said.

"You mean making love?"

He bared his teeth in distaste. "If we're talking safewords, angel, it's safe to say _making love_ will not describe the act."

Aziraphale raised one perfect, golden brow. "I wouldn't go making such assumptions, were I you."

Crowley filed that away for later.

"Very well, then," Aziraphale said triumphantly, "if not ineffable, then apophatic."

"They're not synonyms," said Crowley, with false confidence.

"They both mean unspeakable," Aziraphale argued.

"I will not safeword out with _apophatic_. Besides, it should be easy to remember and say. Like… like apple."

"Have you any idea how many words sound like _apple_ when one is gagged with clothespins on one's testicles and a prick up one's arse?"

"Ngk," Crowley contributed.

"It has to be a very clear and singular word. Or.. or phrase. Something like…" He snapped his fingers, but without the _fiat lux_ this time. "Oh," he said, "I have the perfect idea."

***

As it turned out, it was indeed difficult to make out whether the noise Aziraphale was making under the gag was supposed to be _apple_ or _please no_ or _mitigated dualism_. And while there was no way in Heaven Crowley was putting clothespins anywhere on that creamy skin - he'd endured days of eyelash flutterings and unsubtle hints before conceding to the spanking - he had to admit that his cock had indeed rendered his clever angel inarticulate from sensation.

It was a beautiful view, Aziraphale spread out before him like a tasting menu, his legs in the air, his buttocks rosy and freckled with deeper red starbursts. His erect nipples were surrounded by bite marks, and hickeys like dark whirlpools were beginning to form from his hips to his neck. Crowley had tied his arms, wrists crossing over, to the centre of the headboard, and the plump white fingers twitched uselessly as he ploughed his submissive lover. Aziraphale's head hung to one side, eyes closed, and a little drool escaped the golden ball gag that held his jaw open.

Crowley slowed his pace, pulling out almost to the tip. "Aziraphale," he coaxed. "Angel, look at me."

With evident effort, Aziraphale lifted his eyes and focussed on Crowley.

"Hey, angel. Is there something you need to say?"

He seemed to smile behind the gag and shook his head lightly, shaking sweat from the white-gold curls.

Crowley beamed back, unable to hide the sheer joy of loving his angel. "I want you to look at me," he said, refraining from begging only because it would ruin the mood. He slid back in, tectonically slow, until they were so close that he didn't know where he ended and Aziraphale began, and he began to pump again, pushing little gasps and moans out of his angel. The stormy eyes focussed and wavered, rolling back as the angel began to shake, and-

"ARBATH'O REIBET," he gasped, voice breaking in pain, but clearly understandable through the gag, "ATHEL'BERSTH BLATH' ALB'U EBENPHCHI CHITASGO-!"

Immediately Crowley pulled out, but before he could reach out to untie Aziraphale from the headboard, there was a bright light behind them.

Crowley froze, eyes on Aziraphale, bound and gagged and squinting in horror.

Who had found them? Gabriel? Michael? It didn't feel Infernal, although it didn't feel Ethereal either-

RUDE, sounded a voice that was not a voice. It echoed in Crowley's skull, bypassing his ears. A spirit without a body, but also a loud spirit. Not, then, the still small voice of Heaven or the buzzing inclinations of Hell. Something else. Some other origin.

Aziraphale's pain and horror were giving way to a terrible blush. Crowley raised his brows meaningfully, but Aziraphale seemed to be too embarrassed to respond.

AHEM. I AM THE HEADLESS ONE HAVING SIGHT IN MY FEET-

Crowley gulped.

I AM THE MIGHTY ONE POSSESSING ETERNAL FIRE-

He turned around.

-THE TRUTH WHO HATES THAT UNJUST DEEDS ARE DONE-

"Nnh," Crowley began.

-THE TERROR THAT FLAPS IN THE NIGHT-

"Wha," said Crowley.

JUST WONDERING WHETHER YOU WERE EVEN PAYING ATTENTION.

"We, uh."

CROWLEY, RIGHT? AND AZIRAPHALE. FROM ALEXANDRIA. LOOK, IF YOU TWO'VE SUMMONED ME FOR A THREESOME, I'M NOT INTERESTED.

"Mm nh! Mm nh!" Aziraphale cried, shaking his head so wildly that he shook the bed.

EXHIBITIONISM, THEN? REALLY, I THOUGHT YOU OF ALL BEINGS-

"We're really sorry," Crowley said quickly. Demons didn't apologise, but they also didn't accidentally summon daimons in the middle of a bdsm scene, and if they did, they banished them as quickly as possible. "We just- we needed a safeword, and-"

YOU DECIDED TO USE MY TRUE NAME? LIKE I'M NOT BUSY WITH OTHER THINGS? OR DID YOU JUST FORGET I EVEN EXISTED?

"We just, uh."

I DO HAVE A LIFE, YOU KNOW.

"Listen, so this has been really embarrassing for everyone-"

I'M ACTUALLY SHOPPING A MEMOIR-

"So if you could just go and pretend this never happened-"

REALLY, CROWLEY.

"Um, I mean, return to your superlunary realm-"

SAY THAT TO MY FACE.

"We bid thee hail and farewell-"

MY EYES ARE DOWN HERE.

Crowley looked down at the daimon's feet. This social lubricating garbage was usually Aziraphale's thing, and he dragged his memory for the right thing to say. "Again, so, uh, so sorry for the inconvenience, lovely, uh, seeing you again-"

The room filled with light that slowly began to dissipate out the north window.

OH, AND BY THE WAY. NO HARD FEELINGS. AFTER ALL, I'M THE ONE WHOSE SWEAT IS THE HEAVY RAIN THAT INSEMINATES THE EARTH.

And then it was gone.

Crowley sagged to his knees and took several gulps of air. He glared at Aziraphale, whose face was easily redder than his bottom.

He pointed a black-tipped finger. Aziraphale whimpered.

"That of all bloody things," said Crowley, "is deserving of a punishment. And _this time_, the bloody safeword is apple!"

**Author's Note:**

> The Headless One is a daimon invoked in the Greek Magical Papyri (PGM), a collection of magical texts from the early Roman Empire (ish). Magic of the period made use of barbarous names, possibly the names of gods borrowed from other cultures or names made from magical pronunication of vowels, among other sources.
> 
> In the PGM spell, the magician appears to identify as the daimon, saying things like "I am the Headless One having sight in my feet" and various other statements quoted here. They do not, however, quote Darkwing Duck.
> 
> The barbarous names Aziraphale uses as a safeword and the Headless One's dialogue are taken from The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation ed. Hans Dieter Betz, which you can find on archive.org, among other places.
> 
> The Headless One isn't, historically speaking, the same as the HGA, but I couldn't think of a better title.


End file.
